


The Distances Between Us All

by Coppercrow



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Homesickness, Lightsbridge, Post-The Will of the Empress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 06:45:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coppercrow/pseuds/Coppercrow
Summary: Tris misses her bed (and maybe her family as well).





	The Distances Between Us All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gingerschnapps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerschnapps/gifts).



Tris flopped backwards onto the small, lumpy bed that she’d been assigned her first day at Lightsbridge. Beneath her the bed creaked in protest. To be honest, she was relatively sure the bed was significantly older than she was – it certainly looked like it. Longingly she thought of her bed back in at Number 6 Cheeseman Street. Now _that_ was a bed. Just the right firmness to stop her from waking up aching, with linens Sandry had made herself, imbued with magic for deep sleep and healing. Of all the things she’d had to give to come here, she was positive it was the bed she missed the most.

(That was a lie, of course. But nobody had to know that, especially her foster siblings.)

“You’ll wrinkle your dress like that,” remarked an entirely too cheerful voice from her right. Tris cracked open a single eye to glare at her roommate. Charlotte was sitting at her desk on the opposite side of the room, leaning precariously back in her chair in a way that reminded her of Briar. Her dark hair was pulled back into a haphazard bun that looked minutes from falling apart entirely, and her hazel eyes were entirely too amused.

“You say that as though I care,” she shot back, quietly smug in the knowledge that there was absolutely no risk of her dress wrinkly, courtesy of Sandry. She’d been bullied into accepting an entirely new wardrobe for her time at Lightsbridge. At the time she’d loudly and vocally complained how unnecessary it was. But in the time since leaving her family, she’d come to reconsider her stance. Putting on a dress saturated in her foster sister’s magic made her feel like she was home.   

Looking at the book in front of the other girl, she raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be writing that essay for Silverwright?”

Charlotte groaned in response, dramatically burying her face in the book in front of her. “Ugh, don’t remind me,” she moaned. “It’s due in two days and I still don’t understand half of what she rambles on about in class.”

“Well maybe if you didn’t sleep through half her classes you wouldn’t be having this problem?”

“Come on Anna, surely even you can admit she’s boring.”

Tris fought a wince at her fake name, even as she sighed. Charlotte was right, much as she hated to admit it, Silverwright had an excellent knowledge of crafting charms, but she was drier than the magical texts she assigned them to read. And that was saying something, given Tris had willing read more than her fair share of dry magical texts.

Biting her lip, she tried hard not to think how much more interesting her classes would be if hr teachers were more like Niko. Nobody would be complaining about how boring they were, that was for certain.

(And maybe if he was here, she wouldn’t feel so lonely.)

But Niko wasn’t here. He wasn’t even at Winding Circle. Her last letter from him had said something vague about investigating a vision he’d had, without bothering to mention what the vision was of. And even if he was, she’d have to pretend she didn’t know him. Here she was Anna Cartwright, utterly unremarkable except for her voracious love of books.

She’d forbidden her family for fisting for that reason. They were too well known, too visible. Alone and under a false name she might keep her anonymity, but if she was spotted in their company she’d be bound to be found out. They were all too recognisable, unlike her.

Their presence was all over her room, though. It was in the pine shakkan (so achingly familiar to Briar’s own) that he’d handed her the day she left for Lightsbridge. It was in the tapestry on the wall, the same one Sandry had given her when she’d first come to Discipline. It was in the intricate writing box that Daja had painstakingly crafted shortly after they’d arrived back from Namorn in an attempt to distract herself from asking ‘what if?’.

For a moment Tris ran her thumb over the scar on her palm, a physical reminder that her family could not, would not be broken by things as minor as distance Her family might be far away, but they were with her nonetheless.

Sitting up, Tris groaned at the fierce ache in her bones. Not even the best healers Sandry’s money could buy had been enough to ease the lingering pain that her many broken bones had caused. The temple healer she’d seen before leaving for Lightsbridge had said that the pain mightn’t ever go away.

“You alright?”

“Fine,” she replied before grabbing her desk chair and pulling it over to Charlotte’s desk and sitting down. “Now what is it you’re not understanding about the essay?”

The other girl grinned up at her, a broad smile spreading across her heavily freckled face. “You’ll help? You’re the best!”

“Don’t get so excited, it’s just an essay,” Tris groused, leaning back in her chair. For once she was glad her foster siblings (especially Briar) weren’t here. If they were, Briar would be tugging on her braids teasing her about having a heart after all, while Sandry and Daja giggled.

(She really was glad. There was absolutely no lurch of homesickness at the thought of Briar calling her Coppercurls. None whatsoever.)

“Let’s get started.”

 

 

 


End file.
